AUTHOR’S NOTE: Montana native Poopdeck Platt, who lived in Homer for more than 40 years, and in Alaska for more than a half-century, was known as a larger-than-life personality, a reputation well earned.

Clarence Hiram “Poopdeck” Platt had already experienced two bad years in a row, when misfortune struck again in 1967.

In 1965, Bernice, his wife of 18 years, suffered a heart attack, brought on by complications from her diabetes, and left Poopdeck a widower. In 1966, his daughter Alice, only 44, succumbed to colon cancer.

In mid-July 1967, Poopdeck was aboard the Bernice M. (named for his wife), commercial fishing, alone, offshore of Ninilchik. As he was retrieving his net, his hydraulics suddenly stopped pulling. According to his buddy, Kenny Moore, Poopdeck retreated to the cabin and removed a small metal plate that exposed the pump, which operated on a belt-tightener.

“It was not uncommon for it to back off or the belt [would] get hot and stretch,” said Moore in a fishing narrative that highlighted this incident. “Looking in the dark hole, it appeared the belt had flown off. He reached in to put it back on and that caused the V-belt to sink deeper into the V in the sheave (the rotating, grooved wheel within the pulley system), and there was a long bunch of frayed-out threads wrapped (around) his fingers, pulling them through the belt guard where the rest of his hand couldn’t go. It yanked the fingers and knuckles off, pulling the tendons and other stuff with it.”

Poopdeck was left with only a thumb and index finger on his right hand.

At the time of the incident, Moore and a partner were running his own boat near the south end of Kalgin Island and monitoring fishing activity on a two-way radio. They heard, “Mayday! This is Poopdeck. I just tore my hand off, and I think I’m going to pass out. I need help.”

Shortly after the distress call came a reply: “Hang on, Poopdeck! I saw you pick up and move west a while ago. I know where you’re at. I’ll be right there.”

That call came from Bill Duncan and George Ryden, a pair of Kasilof fishermen who arrived on-scene swiftly. Although the water was rough, Ryden, who had training as a medic, was able to board the Bernice M. and bandage Poopdeck’s wound while they awaited further assistance.

Soon, a helicopter on oil-industry business in the inlet, came on the radio to get directions. The chopper flew to the scene to help out. Poopdeck was moved from his boat to a small skiff to get away from the boat’s rigging and closer to the hovering helicopter.

“It took several tries,” wrote Moore, who was just arriving, “but they finally managed to grab him, and we could see Poopdeck going in to the helicopter door.” After the chopper soared away, Moore’s fishing partner was transferred to Poopdeck’s boat, so it could be run to Kenai, with Moore as an escort.

Poopdeck, however, remained only briefly in Kenai and was gone well before Moore arrived. At a clinic there, he was given an injection for the pain and flown on to a hospital in Anchorage.

Meanwhile, wrote Moore, he had another “problem” to deal with: the severed remains of Poopdeck’s hand were still aboard the Bernice M. He and his fishing partner had discovered the fingers and portion of hand and, not really knowing what else to do, placed them in a pan.

“I could dump it in the river,” Moore said, “but that didn’t seem right. It (might) wash up on a bank. I could bury it, but some dog (might) dig it up. I couldn’t figure out what to do with, and I wanted to get on the road (to be with Poopdeck).” He called Fred Huebsch, Poopdeck’s son-in-law, for advice. Huebsch told him to leave the hand in the boat, and he’d take care of it.

Poopdeck’s mother, Susan Platt, who had been visiting her son in Homer, traveled to Anchorage with Moore to look after Poopdeck as he convalesced.

Of course, Poopdeck didn’t sit still for long.

“For years after that,” wrote Moore, “he was so intent on making that hand work for him. With the thumb and forefinger, he would (draw) miles of circles so close together it would resemble a pipe, on paper. It was during that time that he got started drawing … self-portraits (within the circles). For years, I found these everywhere. When you least expected it, one would fall out of something. On some sort of scrap paper. Just part of his trying to keep that part of a hand he had left working.”

“Both a determined and stubborn human,” wrote Poopdeck’s grandson Erik Huebsch, “he did not allow his injury to stop him from enjoying his (passion for) hunting. He modified his rifles so he could still shoot them.”

Initially, according to Moore, Poopdeck sold some of his pistols, but he then discovered he could still fire pistols by wrapping a tumpline around his neck. Using the tumpline — a strap, worn over the head, usually used to simplify the carrying of bulky, heavy objects — actually improved his accuracy.

On his own, he also jacked up his log house and dug a cellar, removing soil with a wheelbarrow. “He mixed the concrete by hand and packed it back into his own forms,” wrote his friend Kenneth Jones. “All of this was completed despite (having) only two fingers on his right hand. A V-belt over his shoulder helped carry the weight.”

Poopdeck also didn’t allow his accident to prevent him from commercial fishing. In fact, he fished for 16 more years before retiring from the business in 1983, at the age of 79.

In a retirement that would last nearly two decades, he did more work on his home, raised a large garden, traveled extensively, invested in the stock market, exercised regularly and continued to cultivate old friendships while investing in new ones.

He also continued to outlive other members of his family. His father, P.T., had died in 1957 at the age of 91. His 57-year-old son-in-law, Fred Huebsch, died of lung cancer in 1977. Poopdeck’s mother, Susan, age 100, died in 1984, as did Poopdeck’s brother Donald. His other brother, Errol, died the following year.

But Poopdeck himself remained the same.

“He was one of the most positive people you could ever hope to meet,” wrote his family. “Through all of his hardships and losses, he maintained a positive perspective on the world.”

TO BE CONTINUED….

Photo courtesy of the Huebsch Family Collection Poopdeck Platt set-netting near Kalifornsky Beach in 1952.

Photo courtesy of Ken Moore In this undated photograph, Poopdeck Platt, wearing his old Stetson, watches from his fishing vessel, the Hummingbird, as the salmon begin to come aboard.

Photo courtesy of Ken Moore After Red Cleaver, in 1959, helped Poopdeck Platt add 30 inches to the stern of his fishing vessel, the Bernice M, Platt took his boat out onto the waters of Kachemak Bay.